


Repressed Memories: Pearls

by LittleSpider



Series: Repressed Memories [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, F/M, Gen, Unhappy marriage, Unrequited Love, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repressed Memory:</p><p>Betty is starting to tire of her husband's controlling ways, but will this be the nail in the coffin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repressed Memories: Pearls

Repressed memory: Pearls

It was her father’s monthly get together at his house. Her former childhood home.

It would be the usual affair, drinks on tap, a few old war stories she would be expected to smile at politely and pretend not to understand and would be followed by her driving Glenn home and having to suffer his half-drunk attempts at sex with her.

Betty would always try and get him to sleep by plying him with more drinks—acting the doting wife while trying to get him too drunk to perform. Take her time while driving him home to lull him to sleep. And then dump his ass on the couch before heading to bed herself.

With any luck, she may be able to avoid the monthly ‘duty’ she was expected to endure.

Sat in front of the mirror, she was wearing a modest black dress with a not so low cut neckline, her long black hair had been tied up in a bun and she had done her make up as he tended to like it.

Reaching for her mothers necklace she had removed when she showered, Glenn walked behind her, seized it and put it down before reaching for the clusters of pearls that hung in the jewellery box.

“These will suit you better with that dress.”

In a rare, but slowly increasing show of frustration, Betty put her fists down on the dressing table and stared up at him.

“That was my mothers! And I want to wear it!”

Glenn’s features slipped into benign confusion, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Calm down, Betty. It’s only a necklace. Really, you are really touchy recently…”

Betty seized the necklace and stared at it.

It wasn’t ONLY a necklace…

It was everything.

He had influence in everything in her life and she was starting to realize, with alarming clarity how much he had wormed his way through to everything she had until his influence had stained it, and dried on it, leaving a sticky, dark patch on everything she owned.

Almost everything.

Without another word, she fastened the necklace around her neck and watched it swing into place, gazing at her reflection.

His words proved right.

It stuck out oddly, it didn’t fit in.

A piece of jewellery she had worn for years, to her dances, to her dates, to the lab, to her wedding suddenly didn’t fit in.

Her throat closed a little as she looked to Glenn stood behind her, holding the pearls in his hand.

She snatched them from him and put them on, taking her mothers necklace off immediately and putting it on the table in front of her before standing.

Glenn smiled, of course he smiled.

It’s what he wanted.

“There…perfect.” he praised.

She gave an uneasy smile. A false smile she summoned whenever she wanted him to think it was alright.

“…That’s better…one thing…” he drew closer, moving into her neck, like he was going to kiss her.

…was he really going to attempt such daring romantic gestures as this?—she thought sardonically.

He pulled back holding her mother’s necklace from the dresser.

“Put it away properly. Everything has a place.”

Betty took it from him and turned to put it back into its designated spot in her jewellery stand.

Everything always had a place…

Her cardigans, her shirts, her dresses, her blouses, her vests, her jackets her coats all had a spot in the wardrobe. Even designated colour coded hangers.

Her socks had individual spots in the cross hatched spacers he had put on their wedding list.

Her shoes had designated areas, her keys had a certain hook, the cans in their pantry were faced up so their labels all faced the correct way and were in the correct order.

And it didn’t end there.

She had a place too.

And though he was out of the house for 9 or 10 hours a day, in that day she had jobs that needed doing that he wouldn’t so much as yell at her, if she didn’t do them, but would badger her relentlessly if she didn’t do them.

Standing back and looking at the jewellery stand, the perfumes on her table all lined up an inch apart, labels facing forwards. Her make up in clean boxes, her brushes in a glass jar, her hair brush, hair free and face up—she wondered how long she’d been ‘keeping the peace’…and why now she was only waking up to it.

*

The drive there was no change.

He had taken the drivers seat, as usual, put his license in the sun-shield in case he was pulled over for anything, he adjusted his belt pointlessly for 7 minutes, checked she was sat in the correct position, and had her belt on and have drove the speed limit to her fathers, occasionally mentioning things.

“If your father asks about you being pregnant, tell him that you’re seeing a doctor on Tuesday.”

“If your father asks about the conservatory we’re having done, tell him that you’d appreciate his input on design.”

“If your father asks about your weight loss, tell him you had stomach flu from that hot dog vendor you insist on visiting.”

Betty clasped her hands painfully hard in her lap all the way there.

Getting out of the car, she closed her door and looked up at her childhood home. White panelling. Flowerbeds. A porch swing her mother had installed.

Glenn moved her aside to check she had closed the door properly and then walked forwards, propelling her with his hand on her elbow.

Her father had the door open before they got to it and his jacket absent, his sleeves rolled up to their elbows and a drink in his hand he welcomed them in.

Glenn walked ahead as Betty followed behind and shook hands with her father as usual, complimenting him on the same haircut he had last month, and every month before.

Betty sighed and hung up her shawl on the coat peg before walking through, looking at faded pictures of her family, now mere wallpaper to him, or Glenn, or anyone.

“You’re gonna have to excuse me, Talbot.” began her father. “I’m waiting on a call. Usually I’d leave this kinda bullshit to the office, but—when you have a lead.”

“Oh no…please, I understand.” came Glenn’s simpering voice. “Betty, where are you?” he fussed.

She walked through to the living room and sat down on the couch, a little away from him as her father surveyed her.

“Betty, you’re looking well. A little thin around the waist there…How’s any little grandson of mine meant to cling on in there?” he scrutinized.

“…She got food poisoning.” Glenn volunteered. “I asked her not to eat at those vendors, who knows when they clean their carts…”

“Betty’s just embracing the all American diet!” smiled her father. “…still, Glenn’s right, damn Mexicans, their idea of hygiene is less stringent than ours. Now I’ll tell you a good diner…”

Betty closed her eyes and prepped herself for four hours of this crap.

*

Betty had known from an early age that when the oak panelled door of her fathers home office was shut, that it meant keep out, keep away.

Go and play somewhere else. I’m busy.

But when Betty had come out of the upstairs bathroom after taking a comfort break from her father’s current 34 minute tirade on why Obamacare was bad for the country, she heard something that caught her ear.

“…And you’re sure its him. It’s Banner?”

Banner.

Bruce!

Sliding off her heels, she crept closer to the door, avoiding the creaky floorboards near to his door that she had avoided when younger and perked her ears up.

“…no, no…” began her father impatiently. “I told you! I’m not in the office! Damn it, send it to my home fax. It’s secure. Just get it to me tonight. I can have people in Calcutta by dawn. Clear the area, I don’t want casualties on my record. Not after Harlem.”

Betty’s heart stopped and started in a sudden staccato. It’s rhythm pounding against her ribcage and in her ears.

They’d found him..

They’d found Bruce…

They had him…

Oh God…

They were going to kill him!

Her panic was interrupted by the sound of the fax machine that was for some reason in her old room.

Of course…

Daddy had it moved there when she moved out because his office was so cluttered.

Walking as quickly as she dared, she moved into the room and seized the single sheet of paper.

It was Bruce.

It was a picture of Bruce.

A recent picture of him and scribbled across the image in thick marker. Co-ordinates.

Betty heard footsteps on the landing.

Swallowing her fear she turned quickly and saw the shredder sat next to it.

It was a no brainer.

She slid the document into the shredder as it made a loud.

FRNNNNNNNNNNN

And it was gone.

…he was safe…

“What have you done?!”

Betty looked up to see her father stood there, aghast, angry, and bewildered.

“…Why are you trying to find him?!” she cried, her fists by her side.

“…Betty, relax…please…We just need to test him…”

“Liar!” she yelled. “You were gonna send people to kill him!”

More footsteps.

Glenn.

“Sir?” he began to her father.

“We had intel on the Hulk. Betty just destroyed the document.”

“What?” Glenn asked, his eyebrows lifting. “Why?”

“He’s not the Hulk! He’s Doctor Bruce Banner and I won’t let you kill him!”

“Betty, you don’t understand…it’s complicated…” Glenn intoned.

“I understand better than you!” she snapped. “Or you!” she pointed to her father. “I hope you never see him again.”

“Betty, mind your tone!” her father rebuked and looked to Glenn who looked to Betty.

“I’m leaving. I can’t believe you’re still obsessed with finding him…” she began, her cheeks flushing red as she passed them.

“Can’t you just get the intel again?” Glenn began behind her.

“It was a secure line, I can’t just caller ID them! It’s gone!” her father growled.

Betty made for the stairs. She’d get a cab, go home, get the spare key from the wind-chimes she hid and—

“Betty.” Glenn began, his voice hard as he caught up to her, grabbing her forcefully by the arm.

“Get off me, Glenn, you’re as bad as he is!” she began, ripping her arm out of his grasp and moving closer to the top stair.

“Why did you do it, Betty?” he bellowed at her.

“Because you’re trying to kill him!” she yelled back.

“And why should it matter to you!? He ran away from you?! Left you!” Glenn spat at her.

“He did what he had to to survive, Glenn!”

“ADMIT IT. YOU STILL LOVE HIM.” Glenn yelled, moving closer to her.

Betty felt her cheeks glow red, blood rushing around her body.

“…YES. YES. I ADMIT IT. I STILL LOVE HIM.” she screamed, her voice breaking. “ARE YOU HAPPY?! ARE YOU HAPPY, GLENN?!”

Glenn’s face contorted with rage and Betty was sure he was going to hit her. But instead, she felt a soft, prod in her middle…

And she was falling…

Falling…

…blackness…

Opening her eyes again she saw a few pearls rolling away…across the hardwood, polished floor, leaving bloody, thin trails in their wake…

rolling…

rolling..towards the rug….and the searing agony in her back…and…arm…and….

…

…


End file.
